This is probably really derpy because I wrote it really quickly and it hasn't been proofread, but oh well. Sorry I stopped updating! :P

Castiel turned to Dean quickly. "You have to go! Michael is coming, and he won't be happy that you escaped."

"Be careful, Cas," Dean said seriously. Castiel tried to brush it off, but Dean caught his eye and held his gaze. "Please, promise me."

"I promise."

"Thank you." Dean looked only slightly relieved. He have Castiel a sad look, then turned and hurried out the door with Pala. Then, he dragged Sam as carefully as he could and pushed him under the table, all the way against the wall. He was almost completely invisible. Michael entered right after he'd risen from stashing the Captain, and Castiel looked up in surprise, both feigned and legitimate.

"Michael!" he exclaimed, immediately flustered. "I-I didn't realize you'd be coming."

"I'm never too busy to dine with you, Castiel, you know that." It seemed like the already thinly-veiled condescension in Michael's voice was blatant at this point. Or maybe Castiel had just grown wiser about the kind of man his guardian happened to be. "In fact, I brought you something."

Castiel swallowed as he rushed to grab the dishes, though his hands were shaking so hard, he dropped one of the plates and his own wooden cup fell off the table.

"Something wrong?" Michael inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"No, no, it's all fine!" Castiel insisted.

"But something is obviously troubling you," Michael insisted.

"I assure you, Michael, it's nothing," Castiel replied. "Just, an upset stomach is all. Nothing serious." He'd never been a good liar, but with Sam's life depending on it, he had to be.

"Something's different in here," Michael intoned as he rose from his seat and strode around the place.

"Nothing has changed." His stomach dropped as his voice cracked, though he hoped Michael would simply chalk it up to his "upset stomach."

"I know you helped him," Michael said. It took a moment for Castiel to realize what he'd said, and then his eyes widened, but he said nothing to either confirm or deny Michael's words. The older man gazed out the window. The red glow was getting brighter. "Paris is burning to the ground because of you, Castiel."

"He was kind to me!" Castiel exclaimed, unable to remain silent any longer. He'd been holding his tongue for years, and he couldn't stand it any longer.

He was met with a condescending laugh. "You're an idiot. That wasn't kindness, it was pity, cunning. He's a gypsy. His people are not capable of love, or kindness. Think! Think about your filthy whore of a mother."

Michael took a moment to compose himself and let his words hover between them.

"But you never stood a chance against him, did you? Poor, misshapen, feeble-minded. But never mind that. He'll be dead by the next time Paris sees daylight, and he'll be gone from our lives. He will torment me no longer."

Castiel looked up sharply. "Torment you?"

"What are you talking about? I said he would no longer torment you! Do listen, Castiel! As I was saying, I have located his hideout, and tomorrow morning, we shall storm it and arrest the thieves. Now, sadly, I must leave. You've kept me longer than I should have stayed. We'll continue this tomorrow."

He left and the next thing Castiel heard was a groan from under the table. Sam pulled himself out weakly, looking up at the deformed man.

"We need to get to the thieves' hideout. Now.